


the audacity

by mcwho



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, brief mention of internalized homophobia, steve FUCKS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcwho/pseuds/mcwho
Summary: “I don’t know where you all got the idea that I was giving it to Steve with the lights off under the blankets in total silence by candlelight, but you’re all wrong.Wrong.”





	the audacity

Bucky isn’t sure when his adoptive teammates decided that his and Steve’s floor of the Tower is the new common area, but it happened so slowly that Bucky had just looked up one day and there was a minibar in his living room and four times the number of dishes and cutlery he and Steve needed in their cabinets. 

Sam opens said minibar and tosses a beer to Natasha, who barely looks up from her phone as she lifts her arm to catch it before it flies over her head and smashes into the window behind the sofa.

Bucky doesn’t mind it, the company. He sees the Avengers as a group of small, stray rodents that should not be cute because of how vicious they are but have managed the feat anyway because of their clingy, wide-eyed nature. 

“Hey, me next!” Tony yells, clapping and then waving both hands in the air. “Do me! Throw me a beer, I want to play catch too!” Tony has had several already.

“Tony,” Sam says, eyeing the nine-foot distance between himself and Tony dubiously. “I don’t think that’s a good–”

“ _Throw me a beer_ ,” Tony demands. “Come on, pitch it, put your back into it, what is this, a Soviet Assassins Only event? You have to be a former KGB agent to get a drink? Is this Unhappy Hour? Please don’t hurt me,” he says, flinching away from Natasha, who has leaned over to grab the bottle opener off the coffee table in front of Tony. She gives him a withering look. Tony looks rightfully subdued, but only minimally.

Sam sighs and gets out another beer. “Alright,” he concedes. “On your head be it. Barnes is protective as hell over his carpet,” which, yes, Bucky is. They’ve all checked their shoes at the front door and he gets it professionally cleaned weekly. Luxury flooring is one of Bucky’s few indulgences in life. That and his extensive blade and sword collection. However, the hallway of their apartment is marble and prone to slipping when wearing only socks and also while indulging in the carnal knowledge of a supersoldier against the wall while wearing only socks. When Bucky had stopped laughing so hard at the sight of Steve falling on his ass midway through wall sex, he had helped him up and pestered Steve until he let him rub aloe vera on his bruised buttcheeks. The bruises would be gone within hours, but Bucky wasn’t giving up an opportunity to grope Steve, not while there was breath in his lungs.

The thought that Steve had gotten his ass massaged and then subsequently fucked Bucky into the same couch Stark is currently sitting and threatening the safety of Bucky’s cream shag carpeting on, only an hour before Stark arrived, fills Bucky with a certain kind of inner peace.

Sam tosses the beer. Tony reaches his hand up to catch it and, predictably, it grazes his fingertips and hurtles onwards. Steve – precious Steve – who has just exited the kitchen with a bowl of chips stretches over just in time to snag the bottle out of the air.

“You got a death wish, Tony?” Steve asks him. 

“I wouldn’t have _killed_ him,” Bucky says lightly, biting into a slice of pizza. Steve hands Tony the beer. 

“Of course, you wouldn’t, we’re friends. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” Tony enthuses.

“Jury’s still out,” Natasha says, before chugging half of her bottle.

“Friends or not, I’m not dealing with Buck after he gets a stain in his precious – ugh,” Steve groans as he settles into the sofa, “–carpeting.”

Tony’s eyes widen like he’s happened upon a goldmine. Or whatever sort of mine it would take to excite a multi-billionaire. 

“Did you just _’ugh’_?” He demands. “You did, didn’t you? You just _ugh_ ’d.”

“I’m pushing one-oh-one, I’m allowed to make funny noises when I sit down,” Steve says defensively.

“Oh, please, Mister Genetically Engineered Perfection, the only time I ever heard noise other than perfectly paced breathing out of you is when you’re speaking or injured while on a mission. And we haven’t had one of those in a week. Are you sore, Rogers? From _activities_?” Tony gasps conspiratorially. Sam starts to snicker. Natasha looks vaguely amused. Steve rolls his eyes, sighing long-sufferingly. Other than his pinkening ears, he does nothing to refute Tony’s claim. 

No one says anything in the way of outrage or disgust. This is – this is a _regular_ thing. Tony just makes jokes about – about sore butts and it’s just? Normal?

In the back of Bucky’s mind, he knows it’s not actually a big deal, the sex jokes. Through a lot of haze and cloudiness, in a world far away, he knows that he knew, told and invented a fuck-load of dirty jokes in his time. There are images of a bright red Steve giggling helplessly and breathlessly pleading for Bucky to shut _up_ and spare a thought for his poor asthmatic lungs. Bucky would ignore him and, barely able to speak with laughter, lay another one on him in a whisper, _’You know why Santa has such a big sack? He only comes once a–_ ’ ‘ _BUCKY, WE’RE AT CHURCH_ ’.

Bucky has been out of Hydra’s clutches for three years and been living with Steve for one of them when he hears the funniest thing he’s heard since he came across his old medical files and found out they were considering replacing all of his limbs with metal ones at some point, for optimum mission success. Steve had told him, looking a little queasy, that that wasn’t very funny at all. Bucky’s aware that his sense of humour is a little warped, but if anything is _genuinely_ hilarious, it’s the thought of Steven G. Rogers exclusively bottoming.

 _Bottoming_.

“What’d you just say?” Bucky asks. Tony looks at him, amusement shining in his eyes.

“Oh, you really do have a death wish, don’t you?” Sam asks him, settling onto the couch, his own beer in hand.

“It’s nothing, Buckaroo, just a little humour between friends. We _are_ all friends, everyone agree with me right now, we all live together for Christ’s sake–”

“You think Steve,” Bucky says slowly, in disbelief, “is sore, because I fucked him?”

“That would be the professional diagnosis, yes. And hey, I get it, kitty’s got claws, anyone’d be feeling a little rough after a ride on _that_ disco stick, since you know, it is attached to, you know,” Tony gestures vaguely towards Bucky’s entire form. Bucky looks down at himself. He’s got on a pair of sweatpants that read _Pineapple_ all down one thigh, topped off with a worn grey hoodie that’s probably Steve’s. 

“No,” Bucky says. “I don’t know.”

“I’m just saying,” Tony says brightly, ignoring Natasha’s _’careful, Tony’_. “It’s like mixing apple pie and hard liquor. The assassin formerly known as the Winter Soldier and Captain America? Interesting combo.”

Bucky blinks slowly. “What, I’ve got to be a wild lay because I’m an ex-assassin? Steve can’t be the wild one?”

There’s a brief pause before Tony, Sam and Natasha burst into peals of laughter. Bucky. Is. Speechless.

**/**

“They’re _disrespecting_ you, Steve,” he complains later that night when Steve’s helping Bucky comb detangler through his hair after their bath. “They are disrespecting you, and I will not stand for it.”

“They’re kidding around, Buck,” Steve says, carding his fingers through Bucky’s damp locks. It’s very pleasant. “It’s just jokes. I specifically remember you teaching me the difference between someone joking with me and someone who needed to be invited into a back alley to sort out their problem.”

“I hope you’re talking about fighting in that alley,” Bucky says, peering back at him, to which Steve rolls his eyes and tugs on Bucky’s hair a little. “Otherwise you and I have got a very different recollection of the 30s. And your reactions to people talking shit don’t have to be either a fistfight or total apathy, Steve. There are in-betweens. There are other things that can be done.”

“It’s nothing, really. A lot of people think that whole Righteous Man thing runs deeper than it does. It’s to do with how I carry myself, I guess. Plus, there’s the one time I told them all to mind their language on a mission.”

Bucky blinks slowly. “Didn’t you used to use ‘fucking’ as a precursor to nearly every noun?”

“Captain America doesn’t curse. Or at least he didn’t, way back when. It was easy to forget myself in the whole persona sometimes.” Steve drops the comb on their nightstand, done with Bucky’s hair. Bucky turns to face him, sitting cross-legged in front of him on the bed.

“ _Captain America_ fucked me until I cried not five hours ago,” Bucky says, eyebrows raised. Steve looks a little smug. 

“Damn right he did.”

“And the – the _bottoming_? Steve you bottom once a year, if that and that’s _now_. In the 30s, it was a forbidden topic altogether.”

“I wasn’t totally against it,” Steve says defensively.

“Please. You were a little slip of nothing and you walked, talked and breathed like you had something to prove, to me and everyone. Looked mortally wounded the one time I suggested I stick it in you instead of the other way around.”

“To be fair,” Steve conceded, “I was dealing with some internalised homophobia at the time.”

“They got words for it now?” Bucky says, impressed. “To think I’ve been calling it ‘fear of god’ in my head this whole time.”

Steve looks amused. “This is bugging you, isn’t it?”

“These idiots think my guy’s a boring lay. ‘Course it’s bugging me. We are probably – no, Steve, we are 100% definitely having better sex than anyone living in this Tower. Better than all of them put together. Better than all of them put together on _ecstasy_.”

“I know that,” Steve says. He leans in, gets closer, and then he’s kissing Bucky’s lips, and then his jaw, and then his neck. “I know that, you know that. Isn’t that enough?”

Bucky thinks for a moment. Then, he says, “No.” 

He _will_ defend Steve’s honour. 

**/**

Six days later, Steve is balls deep inside Bucky when their front door clicks open and the sound of their friends’ voices carry through the apartment and into their bedroom. After the initial shock, Steve seems to decide that he’s going to damn well finish what he started and starts to thrust his hips again. 

Bucky can practically feel the lightbulb flickering on above his head. 

Bucky moans, loudly, “Oh, _yeah_ ," voice all breathy, arching his back a little more because he knows it does things to Steve.

Steve stills. “Are you,” Steve says. Bucky twists his neck and looks right back at him, defiant. “Are you being loud, on purpose? So they’ll hear?” Steve asks him, a hand on the small of Bucky’s back.

“No,” Bucky says, appalled that Steve would even say such a thing. “I’m appalled that you would even say such a thing.”

"Who's got something to prove now?"

"You should spank me or something," Bucky says, wiggling his ass. "A little skin on skin. The sound gets pretty loud if you do it right." Steve holds his gaze, decidedly not spanking him, and Bucky lets out another wanton moan.

Steve sighs, looking like he's trying not to laugh. “Bucky.”

“What?” Bucky complains. “A guy can’t scream out in passion anymore?”

“You’re much more of a crier than a screamer, first of all,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, and also rolling his hips. Bucky’s counter-argument sticks in his throat. He buries his face in a pillow and shivers. “You get all glassy-eyed and whimpery, gasping for it like you’ll die without it. ‘S hot.”

Steve slides a hand down Bucky's sweat-slick back and tangles it in his hair, holding him down firmly. Bucky writhes and then goes lax for it against his grip, moans muffled by the pillow. “Ngh,” says Bucky.

“That’s it,” Steve murmurs, pleased. 

**/**

Bucky thinks maybe he’ll let it go. He thinks, maybe Steve was right. It’s just a joke. They don’t have to know the truth. It’s _fun_ , even, having a little inside joke, just him and Steve and the wild animal sex that nobody knows they have. He's not a teenager. He doesn't need everyone to know about how great his sex life is. 

Until Thor.

Thor comes back from Asgard with a bang around mid-Autumn. Literally, he decimates the patch of grass behind the tower and makes the skies rumble with thunder. Bucky has met Thor a handful of times, and he can’t quite get a read on him, but his shamelessness and bulging biceps are qualities Bucky can appreciate, so they get along alright.

Thor joins them in their weekly bonding session in Steve and Bucky’s apartment, taking up half the couch and telling them all about how he flies on his magic hammer from planet to planet, doing his best to explain the physics of it all to a bunch of slightly inebriated mere mortals, Bucky included, thanks to Thor’s mead.

Steve’s got his head in Bucky’s lap, and Bucky’s feeding him carrot sticks, and it’s very all innocent until Steve’s lips wrap around Bucky’s finger, before releasing it and munching on the carrot like it never happened.

Bucky sucks in a deep breath.

“We’re gonna go to bed,” he announces, standing. Steve’s head rolls off of his thighs, Steve himself nearly landing on the ground. “Long day, early morning.”

“Yeah,” Sam snorts. “Right.”

“Like we don’t all know what you’re about to go do,” Tony says accusatorily, absently trying to lift Mjolnir out of it’s spot next to his feet. 

And then Thor says in his booming voice, “It’s heartening, truly, to see that such an elderly couple are still trying their best in the bedroom,” obviously in on their little running gag, and Bucky will _not allow his sex life to be jested at by a god._ He _won’t_.

“Oh, for–“ Bucky scoffs, swaying on his feet a little. “You’re all idiots. Idiots. We are two _artificially enhanced beings_. We replace our furniture every month. We have fucked on every surface in this room, including all four walls. We are _not_ some old couple struggling to get it up. Struggling to keep it down, more like, ain’t that right, baby?” he asks, turning to Steve. Steve nods loyally, looking a little sheepish.

Everyone in the room looks scandalised. 

“The walls?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. She looks half confused and half pleasantly surprised.

“The walls,” Bucky says, folding his arms. “And Steve hasn’t bottomed since the Great Depression, fuck you all very much.”

Tony gapes. “So you’re–”

“Taking it? Like a champ.”

“What is happening,” breathes Tony, who’s world is clearly spinning on its axis.

“The _walls_ ,” Sam mutters, mostly to himself, looking like he’s trying to do a very intense mathematical calculation in his head.

“When he’s not embedding the shape of my body into a mattress,” Bucky huffs.

Natasha says, ”Can Captain America even _do_ that? Legally?”

“I don’t know where you all got the idea that I was giving it to Steve with the lights off under the blankets in total silence by candlelight, but you’re all wrong. _Wrong_.”

“I can never look Steve in the eye again,” Tony says.

“I’m happy for you friend Barnes, Captain Rogers,” Thor says cheerfully, laughing. “A toast – to the healthy sex lives of our two virile friends.”

Everyone is in too much shock to join him, apart from Steve who snorts and then raises his glass, and says, “Cheers.”

**Author's Note:**

> ah, another addition to the Why Did I Write This files


End file.
